Deeper Than Lies

CHAPTER 2 | Caleb

CHAPTER 2 | Caleb

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What the hell? The pretty brunette takes another wobbly step away from me and squares her shoulders. She looks from Tate to me and back to Tate.

“Nice to meet you,” she says at last and offers him a hand. “I’m Ellie, Wren’s sister.”

Tate and Ellie shake like this is completely normal and she wasn’t just flirting with me because she thought I was him.

I don’t even know where to begin with this s**t and it looks like Wren agrees. Eyes narrowed, she glares at her sister. “What’s going on?”

Ellie chews her lower lip for a long moment, no doubt searching for something to say that won’t sound crazy.

Newsflash, sweetheart, you are crazy. I lean one arm against the tabletop, and give Tate a sympathetic look. See what you’re marrying into, buddy.

Tate won’t meet my eyes, but he scratches his temple with his middle finger in response.

Fine. Your funeral. He may not have had his fill of party girls and their games, but I have. I barely escaped Mandy. I may be home again, but I’m not going back for another round of crazy. In fact, I can’t believe I almost fell for it again. Or maybe I can. When it comes to women, I have terrible taste. If she’s a beautiful party girl prone to bad decisions, she’s the girl for me.

Or she was, like I said I’ve had my fill of crazy.

“OhmygodWren!” Another girl shoulders her way out of the dance floor and into our group. She’s curvy and pale-haired and moves like she could run a mile in those four-inch heels. “It’s not what you think!”

“Holly?” Wren glances from her sister to the Holly girl, corners of her mouth turned down. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh,” Holly manages. Her eyes are huge and guilty. “I came with Ellie.”

Ah, the partner in crime. Crazy always travels in packs. I’m going to need more booze to handle this. I start looking for our waitress. Unfortunately for me, there’s no sign of her. The club is way crowded, and someone is breaking out glow sticks, the universal promise of bad decisions to come.

“Why are you here? You guys said you couldn’t come—are you spying on me?” Wren’s voice skews higher and I wince. Wren’s a nice girl. When Tate introduced us, I never expected to like her as much as I do. She doesn’t deserve whatever stupidity her sister and friend have cooked up.

“Of course I’m not spying on you!” Ellie starts toward Wren and then pauses, thinking hard. She’s definitely drunk. I wasn’t entirely sure earlier, but there’s no mistaking the glassy, overbright eyes and the sway to her step now. “Okay, it’s a little like spying, but not like you think. I was never going to kiss him. I was just going to flirt with him so we’d know if he was an ass.”

Oh, there’s some logic for you. Our waitress squeezes a group of guys blocking the tables, and I catch her eye, signaling for another drink. If only there were a universal hand sign for keep-them-coming-until-I-pass-out. Normally, I would just leave, but Wren’s my ride, and at this rate, we’re not getting out of here any time soon. I predict tears with a side of screaming.

Actually...I eye Wren. She’s drawing herself up to her full height—all barely five and a half feet of her—and both her hands are clenched. Actually, it may be screaming with a side of tears. If she starts throwing punches, I will be impressed.

And not really surprised because insanity runs in families and clearly the Ellie girl has issues.

“Look, Wren.” Ellie reaches for her sister’s arm and Wren pulls away. “I can explain.”

“No,” Holly says, wide-eyed. She steps between the sisters and wraps one arm around Wren’s shoulders. “You stay put,” she says to Ellie. “I will explain.”

Holly pulls Wren and Tate away as the waitress returns with my bourbon. “Thank you,” I say and pass her a ten.

Her face lights up. “Sure thing, honey.”

“Keep them coming,” I say, shaking the glass. She nods and disappears into the thickening crowd. The night is definitely heating up. People are flinging themselves around on the dance floor and pounding back drinks at the bar. Maybe a dozen feet away, a gorgeous girl with waist-length dark hair and a wicked pair of legs twines herself around a guy who holds her like she is his everything.

I used to look at Mandy like that, I think, and it feels like a kick to the gut.

“Well, this is awkward.”

I glance down, bourbon almost to my lips. Ellie is now standing by my side. She chews the skin next to her thumb, watching Holly talk to Wren and Tate. Whatever Holly’s saying, they don’t seem to be impressed. Actually, Tate seems kind of horrified. He’s standing even straighter than usual and staring down at Holly with that calculating expression he usually reserves for the courtroom.

I turn back to Ellie. “You thought I was Tate? What was that? Some sort of game?”

Wren’s sister glares at me and crosses her arms. Moments ago, I would’ve said that was to better highlight her assets, but now I think it’s just because she’s pissed. I honestly don’t think Ellie realizes how close she is to popping out of that dress—or how hard I’m struggling not to look at her almost popping out of that dress.

“It was...an experiment,” she finally manages.

“An experiment?” That makes zero sense. I eye her. “How drunk are you?”

“Not nearly enough.” Ellie looks up at me through a fringe of bangs and even though I know she’s a drama queen and I can’t stand drama queens, those big, brown eyes hit something low in my gut. “I owe you an apology,” she continues. “I was being...stupid.”

“No kidding.” Okay, I could’ve been more gracious, but I’m still annoyed. Freaking party girls.

Ellie forces her shoulders back. “Okay, I deserved that. Can we try again? I’m Ellie.”

She offers me her hand and I finish my bourbon in one quick swallow. Her palm is surprisingly cool against mine. “Caleb.”

“How do you know Tate?”

“I’m his best friend.”

At least she has the good grace to wince. We spend another uncomfortable moment watching Tate, Wren, and Holly talking. Holly points at Ellie and then twirls one finger around her temple in the universal symbol for crazy. Everyone nods and Ellie huffs something under her breath.

“I’m Wren’s sister,” she mutters. “I was worried about her.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

Ellie blows at her bangs again. “Yeah. I guess. It’s just...Wren and I have really bad taste in guys. I’m worried Hot—I mean Tate—is going to hurt her.”

“Tate’s a great guy. She’s lucky to have him.”

“She’s lucky?” Ellie wheels around on me, wobbling dangerously on her heels. The club music swings into deep bass line, and she leans forward so I can hear her. “Try he’s lucky. My sister is amazing.”

“So amazing you have to jump her fiancé?”

“There wasn’t going to be any jumping. I was going to flirt with him to see if he was cheater.” Ellie fidgets with her hair, tugging it this way and that. It’s distracting as hell. “I had to make sure he’s worthy of her. But now we’ll just have to wait it out. It could take months for his true colors to show.”

I pause. Is it just me or did she make this sound like my fault? “Your crazy is showing,” I say, rolling my bourbon glass from palm to palm. It’s no good though. I can still feel her skin against mine. “You might want to tuck that back in.”

She rolls her eyes like I’m the ass. “You don’t understand. She’s been hurt too many times.”

“Welcome to the real world. It happens.”

Ellie looks at me for a long moment—too long actually because it gives me plenty of time to notice how she’s exactly the right height to fit under my chin and how her curves look in that fitted dress. Damn. Why am I attracted to wild party girls?

When I left for Dublin, I gave up on two things. One, I swore off girls like Ellie and Mandy. Christ, Mandy. We’d been engaged when she slept with that polo player. Kept the ring on and everything. My friends said it was because she was wild. My father said it was because I wasn’t enough to keep her still.

Which brings me to the second thing I gave up: my father. I promised myself I didn’t need his approval—which was good because I was never going to get it anyway.

And now here I am, back to take over his breeding farm and unable to take my eyes away from Little Miss I Have a Plan.

I can’t decide if that makes me pathetic, or incredibly stupid.

“They’re getting married,” Ellie says finally, glancing away from me. “I hadn’t even met him until now.”

Wow. Okay, I kinda sorta understand why she’s upset. I met Wren weeks ago. I took a few days off from the breeding barn I managed, and flew to Paris for a weekend. We had dinner together and by the time I left, I knew all about Wren’s art doctorate, her love for all things French, and the fact she only has one living relative: her sister, Ellie.

Which means I’ve spent more time with Wren and Tate than she has.

I rattle the ice in my glass. “They’re good together.”

Ellie shakes her head. “Well, clearly you’re the expert.”

“You would be too, if you hopped a plane.” Although to be honest, the only reason Tate probably brought me in is because A. I’m his best friend and B. no one has better radar for crazy than I do.

Actually, B is a bit of a stretch. Tate’s so in love with Wren he can’t see straight. The girl could be green with scales and he’d be thrilled. Normally, this would be cause for major concern, but after meeting Wren, I couldn’t be happier for him. She’s straight up amazing. No crazy there.

It all went to her sister instead.

“I’m not an expert on them,” I say at last, finishing the last of my bourbon. “I only met Wren last month.”

And I suddenly remember how Wren described Ellie as her ‘baby sister.’ I take another long look at Ellie’s curves. Baby sister is definitely not the way I would describe this girl.

I clear my throat. “You’ll like Tate. He’s great.”

“So great she said they would probably move for his job,” Ellie says quietly, so quietly I pretend I didn’t hear her.

Too bad I can’t push it from my mind. She’s scared of being left behind. I get that. I don’t want to, but I do. When I was growing up, my mom traveled extensively for our farm’s breeding program. She was always looking for broodmares with certain bloodlines or stallions with international potential. It was amazing for her, and miserable for me. Left at home, I spent most of my time with my father—the Colonel—and it was horrible. I spent almost ten years plotting my escape.

And now you’re back. I sigh, and look around for the waitress again, spotting her on the other side of the dance floor.

“Well?” Ellie asks.

I blink. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Well what?”

“You said you moved back from Ireland. Why?”

“I’m taking over the manager position at a local farm.”

“Wait.” Ellie turns her head to one side, long brown hair sweeping in a shining curtain across her shoulder. “Caleb...what’s your last name?”

“Reese.”

She’s still staring at Wren, but her expression has hollowed. She looks like she’s going to be sick. “Caleb. Reese.”

“Yeah.”

Those big, brown eyes swing to me, and stick. “Like Michael Reese’s son?”

I stiffen. “How do you know the Colonel?”

“He owns the place I work at.” Her nose wrinkles as she looks me up and down. “You’re here for the manager position? I’m your competition for it.”